


Needle Through A Bug

by Ravenspear



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, Humiliation, Restraints, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenspear/pseuds/Ravenspear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raphael presents Meg with a deal, but is distracted by some of Meg's physical responses to pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needle Through A Bug

Meg's back hits the wall with a meaty thud and the crackle of snapping bone; dull pain she barely feels through the haze of panic and fear and awe.

"Stop trying to be difficult, you tiresome harlot," Raphael says, cold and severe, cutting off any attempt at escape with a hand like the crush of mountains against the demon's chest, pinning her body to brick and, worse yet, her spirit to her body.

She's like a butterfly on a needle; stuck and helpless.

 _And dead_ , she reminds herself.

That thought makes her fight; a hysterical wish to stay alive that has her screaming as she tries to rip herself free from the angel's hold.

Raphael takes the kicks and punches and scratches without flinching, before she pulls Meg in towards her, only to slam her back into the wall hard enough that mortar rains down on them from above, and Meg goes limp as her vision darkens and blurs.

"You can't fight me, demon," the angel says, her other hand coming up to grab Meg's chin, force her head up, bring her eyes to meet her own. "And you can't escape. Your only choices here are to die, or do as I say. You will not struggle, and you will _listen_ to me when I deign to speak to you. Do you understand, whore?"

"Yes," Meg whispers, wheezes, chokes a bit on the blood welling up her throat from punctured lung. "Yes," she whispers, submission in her entire body, and she'd have gone as far as baring her throat if the angel's hand had let her move, because she wants to _live_.

Raphael nods once, faintly. "A wise choice," she says, and her hand releases Meg's chin from its vice-like hold. "You see, it has come to my attention that we have very similar goals," she continues, and Meg's skin tingles where her fingers trail soft but clinical across bruised skin. "In the short term, at least."

"You want Lucifer's cage open," Meg says. "You want Michael out."

"Yes," the angel agrees. "And you very much want your father free, don't you?"

" _Yes_ ," Meg breathes as the angel's touch leaves her skin burning and tingling.

"The same goals, then," Raphael says. "And very much the same enemies."

"The Winchesters and their pet angel." The words spill out before she can consider them, and the slap she receives for them shatters her jaw.

" _Watch your tongue, maggot_ ," Raphael spits, and Meg can't help but cringe at the look in her eyes; cool detachment all gone, replaced instead with endless rage (and Meg prays inside her most private thoughts, because she hasn't seen vicious intent like that since the rack, all those years ago). "Castiel is an insurrectionary, a traitor, and a murderer, but he is still an angel - a _brother_ \- and I will not have you name him anyone's _pet_. Do you _understand_?"

Meg nods frantically, tries to form apologies and pleas for her life with her broken mouth, and Raphael looks appeased by it.

"What a mess," Raphael says, wrath once again hidden away behind placid eyes as she prods at Meg's shattered jaw. "Once upon a time, I wouldn't even have been able to inflict damage such as this." She pokes hard at a particular shard, and Meg groans as it pokes through the inside of her cheek and her mouth fills with blood. "Your father left me stripped of such naive purity, though."

Then, suddenly, Meg is burning, _glowing_ , as Raphael's hand lies flat against her cheek; sweet, sharp fire that runs across her skin, into her bones, knits it all together, good as new with that warm, stinging tingle inside, like it's seeped into her and won't ever leave.

And just as sudden, Raphael pulls her hand away, leaves Meg heaving for breath as she inspects her work. "Humans. Such delicate, complicated structures, for a species so crude and base." Her face draws into a disgusted frown. "Such a waste."

"So as much as it pains me," Raphael continues, and Meg shudders as her hand travels lower, as the burning knits a shattered shoulder blade back together, "I propose an alliance, for as long as it takes to break our generals out of the cage."

" _Yes_ ," Meg hisses, not sure which she means more: the plan, or the way Raphael's hand slides across her body, burning and mending. "Yes, whatever you need me to do, I'll do it, anything," she breathes, and more words besides; anything to keep Raphael mercifully inclined, and her hands on Meg's body.

"There is an angel hiding on Earth. His name is Balthazar, and he is... far more fond of Castiel than is wise of him." Raphael says as broken ribs snap into their correct positions, and Meg's back arches as far as Raphael's hand on her chest will let her, her breath coming in sharp shudders. "I will require you to find him for me, so I can remove him from this equation. Can you do that?"

"Gladly," Meg moans. "Already heard a thing or two about him on the infernal grapevine; shouldn't be too hard," she continues, voice reedy as Raphael heals a fractured hip bone. " _Please_ ," she can't help herself from begging, because Raphael's hand is so _close_ , and the burn and the pain is so _good_ , and she _wants_.

Raphael stays her hand at the naked, lustful pleading, and Meg shivers against the wall as the angel stares at her with dawning realization. "You're enjoying this," she states, slowly, considering. "This pain is... _stimulating_ to you."

Meg can only keen desperately, wantonly, willing Raphael to move, willing her hand to slide further down, to touch, burn her from the inside out, deep and owning.

"Disgusting," Raphael says, and Meg bucks her hips as the angel unbuttons her jeans, knuckles teasing at the soft skin of her stomach; she wants more contact, _so_ much more. "You _things_ truly are the distillation of human vileness."

" _Oh please, yes_ ," Meg moans as Raphael's fingers slide inside her clothes, warm skin and cold contact as she parts the soft folds of her slit, and she shakes as the angel thrusts her fingers inside, deep and harsh and _oh God the fire_ , the heel of her hand rubbing hard against Meg's clit, and it's so fucking good she could cry.

"Your kind is quite alien in composition. A human would be going insane with the agony now, but you are begging for more. It's interesting, in a scientific sense, to see the lengths to which the human spirit can be degraded," Raphael says, voice distantly curious, eyes dispassionate, like Meg's just a specimen under glass, and Meg flushes with a hot spike of lust at how cold that gaze is, how little she means to this creature in front of her, how easily it could break her if it wanted to, if she stopped being useful.

"Please, please, please," Meg begs, hips moving restlessly, desperately against Raphael's painful, glorious fingers. "Please," she begs, reaches out with shaking hands, trying to touch, clutch, drag closer, _more_.

"Don't _touch_ me, filth!" Raphael spits, and suddenly Meg is crushed into the wall, like a thousand hands and arms slamming her against it and holding her fast there, spread and helpless, and there is a sickening crunch at the back of her head, wetness making it's way down her neck. "Don't you ever _dare_ touch me," the angel hisses, and this time Meg _does_ cry when Raphael's fingers crook and nails scrape, and it's lovely and she wants this forever.

"I'm sorry," she whines. "So sorry, please. Please, please."

"Be quiet," Raphael orders, steps in closer, better leverage to push deeper, hurt more, make Meg shiver and shudder and writhe. "Your voice is disagreeable. Don't speak unless I tell you to."

And Meg closes her mouth obediently, won't make another sound, not even when Raphael touches deep and vicious and too much, calls her "wanton jezebel" with her face twisted in revulsion, not even when Raphael makes her come, again and again and again, until her face is streaked with salt and it hurts to _exist_.

Meg is really, really quiet, and hopes that Raphael will want to take her apart some more, later.

And later.

And later.


End file.
